


no man is an island

by aesphantasmal



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm not projecting im not projecting im not —, M/M, Other, a series of thoughts about lonliness that are as pretentious as anything else I've ever written, no actual real tws afaik but there are some kinda gory metaphors, this is almost all nureyev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23293519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesphantasmal/pseuds/aesphantasmal
Summary: Nureyev had never felt lonely before, or at least, he hadn't in a long time. He'd been alone — he'd been alone for many years, but it never hurt like this.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	no man is an island

**Author's Note:**

> so I was having 2am thoughts about my own life and about how the more friends I have the lonelier I feel on bad days. literally I had no friends until I was 10 and now if people don't answer me for 2 minutes I get grumpy. this is the product of that. its working title was "statement of peter nureyev regarding his interactions with the lonely".

In spite of all the extraordinary things Nureyev has done in his life — the flashy heists and the breaking into uncrackable systems and persuading people to look the other way and not even notice he was walking out with their valuables — the most  _ difficult _ thing to do was picking himself up and moving on the morning he'd woken up alone in that Hyperion hotel room.

He'd  _ wanted  _ to do a lot of things — scream, cry, find some way to fill the hole he could feel inside of him, the emptiness that seemed to claw at his ribcage and squeeze the air from his lungs. But he didn't do that, couldn't let himself wallow in his foolish emotions when there were things he needed to do. So he splashes some cold water over his face, carefully puts his makeup on, and heads for the spaceport.

Nureyev had never felt  _ lonely _ before, or at least, he hadn't in a long time. He'd been  _ alone _ — he'd been alone for many years, but it never hurt like this. Now —now he had had his first taste in years of what not being alone felt like, returning to where he was before felt like someone had punched straight through his chest and taken out a significant portion of his vital organs. It's a pointed reminder that he's been an idiot. Let someone get close enough to hurt you, and they will do so. You'd think it's a lesson he'd have learned.

So, he leaves Mars. He goes about his life, hopping from planet to planet, throwing himself into his jobs, and trying not to examine the wound Juno left. But, unfortunately, the universe has other plans.

Had Nureyev spent longer wallowing after Juno left, he may not have found himself in this situation. But then, maybe he would as his debts racked up even more than they had. The point was that the universe presented him with the impending issue of his debts, hanging like a weight over his head that would someday fall and crush him, and then presented him with an opportunity he'd have killed for as a teenager (and honestly may still kill for.) He feels nervous in a way he hasn't in years, creating the résumé he was to send off to Buddy Aurinko, a living legend that Peter had admired since — for a long time. He leaves the name blank when he starts, intending to create an alias for this specific purpose. Then he reaches the references section, and his blood runs cold. He spends — half an hour? An hour? Far,  _ far _ , too long — trying to avoid doing what he knows needs to be done.

Before he writes  _ Juno Steel, Hyperion City Private Investigator _ in the references, he goes back to the name section and writes  _ Peter Ransom. _

He had not, at the time, anticipated how a woman like Buddy Aurinko might run her ship, manage her crew. He was occupied only with getting onto the ship. The only thing that seemed to work in his favour about the family setup — even if it was still more of a curse than a blessing with regards to his odds of remaining in the crew — was that most of the crew didn't seem to like him much. Only one of them had repeatedly displayed an active desire to talk to him, and the less said about Juno, the better. Juno alone, he could deal with. He was not enough of an idiot to let the lady hurt him again, and nobody else had shown any intent of getting close enough that he would have to worry about that. Of course, having people  _ physically  _ close enough to hurt him was another matter, but were it not for the knife that resides under his pillow and how lightly he sleeps, Nureyev would have died many years ago. He does  _ not _ think about how he would have died if not for allowing Juno close enough. He does not think about it, until he looks over Juno's shoulder at Zolotovna's ball and sees a camera staring straight at him.

That night, after the Globe had been stored away and Buddy had exposed parts of himself he had covered or ignored, and Juno had laid his heart bare for Nureyev to see, he could feel the cavity within himself like he could reach inside. And as Juno waited for him to respond, he could feel his own heart beating in there.

He knew, deep down, what he wanted. He wanted to stay, to hold Juno close and kiss him until the wound healed, to start living again instead of going through the motions of survival. There was also a part of him that wanted to show Juno his wounds, show him what he had done, and then reach inside his own chest and crush his traitorous heart, cut off all reason to let himself be hurt, feel some sense of petty vengeance. Another part of him longed to disappear, to leave Juno and everyone else behind and reshape himself like clay until nothing can get into his chest, regardless of its intentions. But he looked at Juno — at every little detail he'd memorised in that tomb far underground, as well as those he hadn't — the new marks, the scars that spoke to even more things that had tried to kill the detective since the last time they saw each other. And then Nureyev knows he has to let Juno examine  _ his _ wounds, to show him how he has hurt Nureyev and not to flinch when he takes a closer look.

Later — months later, after Juno and him have talked a million different ways, Nureyev realises something. It is not that he isn't lonely anymore. He still gets lonely — maybe even more than before, when everyone else is busy or asleep and he's left with his thoughts wandering the empty halls of the Carte Blanche, when Juno's away on a job for a week and Nureyev considers gluing Juno to him when he comes back, when Nureyev's in the middle of a job, surrounded by people who feel like shallow, glitzy, inauthentic shells with nothing behind the eyes in the way only copious amounts of money can buy. But it doesn't sting, doesn't pull at his insides — he calls Juno or Rita or Buddy, or finds some calming distraction to get him through it. And in a way, maybe he misses his peace with being alone, but, when everything returns to as close to normal as the Carte Blanche ever gets and he hears Juno whisper "Hey, Nureyev," he knows that this is not something he will allow his own fears to let him lose.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comment or the new penumbra episode will roundhouse kick you in the chest and rip your heart straight out jk it'll do that no matter what u do


End file.
